Those of us who entertain a rigid notion as to what fiction—or reality, for that matter—must be may be of opinion that truth can be noun

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Deliverance from Ourselves

The
truck called Change came your way and veered off the track. You weren’t merely
shocked, awed as well. It would’ve hit you and changed you forever.
You left a deep sigh of relief that it didn’t. You shun a smallish change
like thinking left in your life, why would you welcome a biggish change in the
shape of a ten-wheeler.

It’s
like finding something to have rocky of a foundation after you took that
something to have had rock of a foundation. Talking of certainties in life and
to talk of uncertainties in broad strokes, you’d come off tad meager by the
time you’ve traversed through that tunnel of duality to the light at the end of
it. You, your proverbial tunnel and the light at the end of it all, are they
for real.

The
kid who opened his veins just so he could tell you it is (or it isn’t) never
lived to tell the tale. To stand there impassive and watch the venous shooting,
how very adult of you! It’s as though he never was. One moment there he is, the
next – there, but gone, never to return.

Séance
like mature ejaculation was fun. It was so, for me more so because you had that
stir-crazy expression about your face. She, I, you and glossolalia, all for
real. The fabled Illuminati would’ve witnessed John the Baptist’s tongue on
fire. Babel, Babel, we babbled. We were almost there, post
apocalypse.

Who
gives a hoot about old gods? Prometheus unbound, Krishna
muted, Atlas shrugged, Telemachus sneezed, Screwtape unwrote, Lucifer repented.
Ways paved to mushroom cloud gods, machine and cyber gods. They live in your
universe of a head like bees in hive forever shifting perception. You see
headlights going on and off. You’ve grown deft enough to call them illusions.
Look where it got us.

In
a moment will be your initiation. Drums, strings and keys and what not will go
off, voices will sing in tongues including gibberish, and for a timeless moment
you shall be immersed in sounds so ethereal and images so haunting. That will
be all?

Her
mouth would run like a perennial gutter you’d wish she’s rather bespelled in an
eternal kiss that ends the run while you also wish the kisser to be anyone else
but you because the kiss – a blessing, is only too sure to entail from her side
an innate curse – the sporadic bites.

You
wish for once you the he were a she because then they couldn’t grab yours
divinely’s longish beard and break your symbolic neck. The faithful are
Raptured. Those sneaky little hooligans are gone once and for all. In other
words, the devils by many other names are twice dead. We’re here, we’ve
survived the End. This here is the raw material for an un-brave new world. You
wince, you’re afraid. You feel it’s overmuch. You have second thoughts about
laying the foundation. You don’t want to ruin it, not all over again.

Like
my old man had at one point said. Lust is
one thing, love is another. Pure and impure, simply it’s both. And like
unchecked buggery irreparably damaging, I must add. Between heaven and hell
there’s a wet place. In the spiritual quicksand by your wasteland, you’re in it
never sunk forever sinking. You scream for all of us. Deliver us from ourselves! I have second thoughts about the
switch at my fingertip. I want to and don’t want to bring about the clouds of
mushroom.